Hermione's queer crush
by queerwizard
Summary: Dealing with complex feelings can be a challenge, especially when you're a teenager. And when you're dealing with racism on top of it.
1. Chapter 1

Hermione's stomach turned over, although not in an altogether unpleasant way, when Professor McGonagall entered the room. She knew exactly what that feeling was, and had been experiencing it for several months now. The feeling wasn't entirely new; she had felt something akin to this in her first year when Madam Hooch passed by her during flying lessons. Harry and Ron had been wrong; it wasn't that she lacked interest in Quidditch – at not least initially – it was that she was distracted. She would blush when Hooch helped her practice rising up on her broom, which had a lot more to do with the placement of her teacher's hands on her waist than with her struggle with flying.

With McGonagall however, her feelings were on a whole different level. They had crept up on her gradually, and although it was no surprise to Hermione to be experiencing these kinds of feelings for a woman, the intensity they had now reached was overwhelming. It had started as a kind of admiration for her professor. During her third year they had begun to spend more time together alone due to the need to keep Hermione's time-turning activities in check, which then turned into weekly mentoring meetings. Hermione looked forward to these meetings immensely, where they would discuss books, magical issues of the day, and exam and revision techniques. She was amazed and inspired by her mentor's brilliance and skill, and decided to strive to emulate her. There was a reason why her friends often said she reminded them of Professor McGonagall when she was cross with them, or when she was attempting to explain something to them.

Despite how much she cared for them, and they for her, it was testament to Harry and Ron's obliviousness about many things that went on in Hermione's life that they never noticed that she disappeared for two hours every Friday evening. She had wondered at times why she never told them, and had come to the conclusion that she actually just wanted one thing in the castle that was private, just for her. A place she could go to get away. Privacy was often difficult to come by at Hogwarts, what with sharing a dormitory with four other people, especially for an introvert like Hermione, who often got to the point where she needed to recharge away from the company of other people. But somehow, she had begun to see Professor McGonagall as something different; not as "other people" but as a sort of refuge. They now didn't only engage in intellectual discussion during their meetings, but Hermione had also started to feel comfortable confiding in her professor about slightly more personal things. For instance, in their last meeting she had divulged that she was becoming more and more bothered by the way that Draco Malfoy treated her. To Hermione's relief, Professor McGonagall did not, as perhaps other teachers might have done, dismiss his bullying behaviour as "boys being boys" or suggest that Hermione consider his feelings.

Quietly enraged at the possibility that such a wonderful young girl was being targeted as an outlet for the boy's insecurities, she spent some time attempting to build Hermione's confidence up, whilst assuring her that she would not allow the issue to be swept under the carpet as far as the staff were concerned. The problem was, however, that this was now half-way through Hermione's fifth year, and thus Dolores Umbridge's infamous reign at Hogwarts. Hermione knew that while Professor McGonagall was not one for conforming to damaging ideas just for the sake of her job, there were limits to what she could do while Umbridge was around, especially now that she had made Malfoy himself into a kind of glorified prefect. Umbridge seemed to believe that bullies deserved extra power, something that McGonagall was not at all shy about decrying in front of Hermione, who felt a surge of excitement at the sight of her favourite professor pacing up and down in front of the fire, passionately speaking in her defence, and in that of the school. The excitement she felt was one of feeling she had been present to see something that very few others were permitted to see; it was a kind of intimacy.

Intimacy, Hermione reflected as she sat at her desk awaiting the start of Transfiguration class, was what she was craving the most. This was true in general, but in particular regarding the woman next to the blackboard in front of her now. _'How frustrating,'_ Hermione thought to herself, _'that I'm her student. What I wouldn't give to have been born a couple of decades earlier…then I could have been her friend, her equal…we could have really bonded. After all, we have so much in common, much more than I have with any of my classmates…'_

'Hermione?' She felt a gentle nudge to her right arm that signalled someone wanted her attention. 'Can you please help me with this?' It was Harry, clearly having trouble understanding the task at hand. To be fair to him, transfiguring a regular feather into a magical quill involved a fairly complex theory that even Hermione herself had not picked up straight away, but they had been working on it for a couple of weeks now and she was getting bored of explaining it to him over and over again. She was often happy helping people out, and understood that not everyone had the same strengths as she did, but also sometimes wished that her fellow Gryffindors would take a bit more responsibility for their own learning. After all, she wanted to do other things with her free time than rewriting Charms essays and redrawing Astronomy charts, especially as she had already spent a lot of time on her own work. Hermione's heart gave a leap at the thought that one of the other things she wanted to do was fast approaching; her next meeting with Professor McGonagall was later that day.

She glanced briefly over at her teacher, and smiled slightly at the way her brow furrowed when she was concentrating. The professor was in the process of examining Neville's classwork, and Hermione could tell that she was trying to find the best way to explain to him where he had gone wrong, with just the right amount of encouragement mixed in. This was something Hermione admired about McGonagall; she appreciated that people had different talents. They both understood that someone like Neville had a lot of value; even if he sometimes struggled to grasp concepts that they themselves had no trouble with, he excelled significantly in ways that most people seemed not to notice. Hermione inwardly swelled with pride at yet another similarity between herself and her teacher, and in the spirit of the sudden good mood in which she found herself, turned to Harry and patiently began to explain the theory in a way she hoped would make sense to him.

After dinner that evening, she practically skipped through Gryffindor tower on her way to meet Professor McGonagall, briefly pausing on her way out of the dormitory to check her hair in the mirror. She felt a bit silly after she had done so, after all it wasn't as if she was going on a date, but told herself there was nothing wrong with a harmless crush. As she made her way down to McGonagall's office, she felt the familiar swirl of complex feelings floating around in her stomach, chief amongst them anticipation of the stimulating conversation and human connection that was sure to come. The professor greeted her warmly, first enquiring as to the current situation with Malfoy. Hermione was touched at the thought, and how much she seemed to care about her well-being, and decided to be as honest as she could in a bid for the intimacy she wanted.

'To be honest, Professor, it's not much better than last week when we first discussed it. It's something I've been dealing with since I first arrived at the castle, and it doesn't seem like it's going to go away anytime soon. To some extent, I think I've kind of got used to it; especially as Harry and Ron endure a certain amount of the same treatment from him, it's become a normal part of our life at Hogwarts.' She surprised herself at this revelation.

'When you talked to me last week you realised that it's something that really does grind you all down…' McGonagall observed gently.

'Exactly. It's really not okay that Ron has to endure constant attacks on his family and background, and that Harry is taunted about his parents' death, and…' she hesitated, 'that I am treated as lesser by what feels like a quarter of my classmates for my Muggleborn status...'

'And from what you told me,' the professor cut across, 'the most recent development is a sudden focus on your race, which is even more despicable than I could have previously thought him capable.' She looked as though she was struggling to contain her anger, which made Hermione feel justified in her own. 'Despite being able to fully relate to the frustration of being a Muggleborn in the wizarding world,' McGonagall went on, 'I can only imagine how difficult it must be to be treated differently because of the colour of your skin. I can promise you, however, that I will do everything I can to ensure that this racist behaviour is not tolerated.'

'Please don't compromise yourself too much though, Professor,' Hermione replied hastily, 'I'm aware of how things have…changed...recently at Hogwarts and I really wouldn't want to put you in a difficult position.'

'It is not your fault, Miss Granger. Please never blame yourself for others' prejudice. In fact, the current…situation…at Hogwarts is all the more reason to challenge this behaviour. Between you and me…' Hermione's stomach did a back flip at the promise of her teacher confiding in her, 'I would not be at all surprised if Dolores has been the one to encourage this way of thinking in some of her Squad members. She is well-known for harbouring all manner of prejudices, and it is no accident that she has chosen to surround herself with precisely the students who already have a certain…reputation, let's say…for bullying behaviour and supremacist attitudes borne from their families of origin.' Seeing the look of dejectedness on her student's face, she continued, 'Rest assured, Miss Granger, that we will find a way to fight this, whatever the Ministry might say. If, for example, I were to arrange a meeting with Professor Dumbledore on the subject early next week, would you be willing to attend and assist me in explaining the issue?'

Hermione spluttered over her words slightly as she hastily agreed to accompany her. She was uplifted by the professor's determination not to let prejudice and discrimination go unchecked, and was glad to hear that she recognised it as a wider problem than just one white boy with insecurities. But most of all, she was looking forward to the prospect of seeing McGonagall outside of classes an additional time to their usual once-weekly teas.

'Thank you, Professor. I am encouraged by how much you seem to value my input. You seem to recognise that the voices of black students like me and other students of colour are essential in tackling the problem.'

'Of course, Hermione,' Hermione glowed at the affectionate use of her first name, 'As much as I try, and as strongly as I feel about this, my white skin prevents me from fully knowing how it is to be in your shoes, and so I believe it is you who should be taking the lead on this, with me using my position as teacher to assist you.'

' _Wow,'_ thought Hermione, _'She's even smart about social justice. Is there no limit to how much this woman impresses me?'_ They spent the rest of their meeting discussing ways in which awareness of racism and prejudice could be raised at Hogwarts, including the possibility of a group comprising of all the students and staff of colour that wished to be involved, in order for those most affected to decide how to take the lead. Professor McGonagall pointed out that as a black woman herself, Professor Vector may be interested in helping to coordinate such a group, and Hermione made a mental note to stay behind after her next Arithmancy class to talk to her about it.

As usual, at 10 o'clock sharp the two smart and passionate witches bade each other a good night, with the professor promising her student that she would get back to her about the meeting with Dumbledore as discussed. As Hermione made to turn away, Professor McGonagall gently caught her by the arm and pulled her into a brief hug, telling her she was proud of her and that she was glad she felt she could confide in her. Hermione's body began to tingle all over in response to the unexpected, but very welcome, physical contact, and she revelled in being close enough to smell her teacher's hint of perfume. With a slight shortness of breath, she bade the older woman a good night once more, and made her way back to the common room, her body still tingling and warm.

When Hermione climbed into bed she noticed the tingling had concentrated itself somewhere very pleasurable, and after casting a quick Silencing Charm around her four-poster, she moved one hand down her body to investigate the moist area she knew would be waiting. As she was so used to doing these days, she began to rub her clitoris with the middle finger of her right hand, and moved her left hand up to stroke one of her breasts. As she did so, images flooded her mind of being held by Minerva, however briefly, and of what she would have liked to happen next. In her mind's eye, she was kissing her, and imagining Minerva's hands being where her own were at that moment; one massaging her breasts and pinching her nipples, and the other stroking her clitoris, faster and faster, until she luxuriated in a satisfying orgasm. She turned over, and fell asleep while thinking of how close she had felt to the object of her affections that evening, both physically and emotionally.


	2. Chapter 2

' _Wow,'_ thought Hermione sleepily to herself as she awoke the next morning, a shard of light beginning to peak through the curtains next to her bed. She was still revelling in a pleasurable dream she had been having, related to what she had been thinking about the night before. Although more abstract than her fantasy while awake, the dream had gone along similar lines, and she was slightly irritated by the fact that she would have to wait until later to touch herself again. She had discovered this act of self-care several years prior, before she had even begun at Hogwarts, but until recently it had been an abstract activity that she simply found herself doing sometimes. Lately however, she was finding that having a tangible person towards whom she could direct her thoughts meant that it had become a regular, intentional, and essential activity.

Shaking herself properly awake, Hermione slid out of bed and slowly dressed for Saturday morning breakfast, the other fifth year Gryffindors still sound asleep around her. After reminding herself that arriving early for breakfast would increase her chances of catching the Deputy Head's eye as she sat down, she sped up the process and hurried down to the Great Hall. As she had anticipated, she was among the first to arrive, and looked hopefully up at the teachers' table to where she knew Professor McGonagall would be awaiting her usual porridge. The professor appeared to be rather disgruntled, most likely because she had the misfortune that morning of sitting next to Umbridge, who looked as though she was deep in a self-important monologue. Hermione immediately began to think of ways she could make the situation better for McGonagall, a way to let her know she was on her side. But the professor happened to glance up as Hermione approached the end of the Gryffindor table, and upon seeing her student, gave her a small wink of recognition. At this, Hermione felt satisfied that a brief connection had been made, and turned to her pumpkin juice, aware that the tingling had started up again just by being near her.

She was joined a short while later by Harry and Ron, who had not felt the need to rush down to breakfast, being as though they were not currently grasping after intimacy with anyone. Or at least, as far as Hermione knew. As they began tucking into their sausages, she contemplated whether they had any idea what she was currently feeling. She concluded that there was a good chance Harry might have noticed a change in her, and that he was too tactful to say anything, at least for now. When it came to Ron, she was less sure of his intuitive abilities, based on previous experience, but suspected that he would try his best to be helpful once informed.

' _If I ever tell them, that is,'_ thought Hermione to herself. ' _Perhaps it would make more sense to tell them that I'm interested in women in general, rather than to tell them about this_ specific _woman. After all, that is logically the piece of information that is more relevant to who their friend is as a person. The more specific feelings are just…well, they are just for me to enjoy privately, aren't they? It will soon pass…'_ She glanced once again up at the teachers' table, her eyes almost instantly landing on her "specific feelings". Professor McGonagall was smiling in a way that suggested Professor Sprout had just whispered something very witty in her ear, unbeknownst to Umbridge on McGonagall's other side. Hermione felt herself blush as she caught the force of this distinctive smile, and she began to ponder over what she knew about the friendship between McGonagall and Sprout. As she happily reflected on the idea that perhaps Minerva had a friend at the castle in whom she could confide, she made a mental note to ask her about it in future.

'Err…Hermione?' said a gentle, faraway voice.

'Hermione! Are you there?' said another, harsher voice, this time penetrating deeper into her reality.

She shook herself mentally free and looked up to see Harry and Ron both staring at her, with half-amused, half-exasperated looks on their faces. 'What?'

'Err…you were blushing…and um, smiling to yourself,' answered Harry softly.

'You were miles away!' exclaimed Ron. 'C'mon, get with it, we need you to listen to Umbridge's speech so you can tell us what this one means!'

'Ron,' Hermione replied simply, 'one of these days you're going to have to learn to listen for yourself, instead of relying on me to do the work for you. What are you going to do when we all have jobs? I won't be there to–' she was cut short by an unmistakable ' _ahem ahem'_ coming from the staff table, signalling the beginning of yet another tedious, but meaningful, monologue.

'Good morning, school,' began Umbridge. Hermione could already feel the tension level in the room rising. Or the boredom level, depending on what kind of listener you were.

'I wish to make an announcement to all you all. Due to recent observations that I have made regarding the nature of inter-gender relationships within the school, I will henceforth be enforcing a new rule regarding the appropriate proximity of male and female students. For too long the staff have turned a blind eye to inappropriate behaviour in the corridors and common rooms, and I am here to make sure that Hogwarts is a place for learning, not for fraternisation. I have therefore decreed that boys and girls are not permitted to be within 8 inches of each other.'

Those who were still listening began to murmur amongst themselves at this bizarre new proclamation. Hermione glanced at Ron and Harry to check if they had been listening, and from the way they were looking at her, she surmised that their attention had for once not waned.

Umbridge raised her voice to counteract the murmuring, 'Any student found to be breaking this rule will receive detention, or worse in the case of multiple offences. An abundance of offences across the school will result in enchantments to physically prevent such behaviour. Let's see how we get on, shall we?' she ended in her false, simpering manner. She then left the Great Hall through the back exit, a satisfied little smile fixed on her face.

Hermione's first thought was to wonder whether Umbridge had considered that queer people exist. _'Is there a technical loophole there?'_ she thought to herself with amusement _, 'or did Umbridge simply not want to publicly acknowledge us? Well, I say "us" …I don't know of anyone else who is out yet, but I've read enough to know that there must be many others.'_ She then got lost in pondering the intricacies of the magic involved in the proposed enchantments. _'How would magic to keep boys and girls apart even work? Would the magic get confused in the case of trans students? What would the magic acknowledge – the original assignment, or the self-identity?'_ She made yet another mental note to ask Professor McGonagall her academic opinion, along with the discussion they would surely have about the injustice of this new rule. Hermione realised with a jolt that she hadn't yet looked up at the professor to gauge her reaction, and while wondering what had taken her so long, directed her gaze to her once again.

While many of the other teachers had their heads bent towards their neighbours, Professor McGonagall was staring straight ahead, clearly focused on working something out. As she observed her, Hermione could almost see the cogs turning in her brain, and she felt a rush of pride at the idea of McGonagall and herself as the smart, logical ones, who took their time thinking over a problem first before rushing in like a Blast-Ended Skrewt let loose in Flourish and Blotts. She wondered excitedly if the professor was asking herself similar questions to the ones she had pondered a few moments before, and with a flip in her stomach, considered whether McGonagall would also not be too adversely affected, on a personal level, by this new rule. _'There must be a way of finding out if she's gay too,'_ Hermione thought, as her heart rate rose to join the rest of her body in rejoicing at the idea.

She was once again brought back down to Earth by Harry and Ron, who predictably had questions. Although this time, she found herself pleasantly surprised that their questions showed they _had_ listened this time.

'Okay,' said Ron slowly, 'I get that she doesn't want us all snogging between lessons and all. I mean, I don't agree with being so harsh about it, but I get it. But what happens if, say, Harry or I want to give you a friendly hug, Hermione?' His face betrayed genuine concern, which was quite touching from Hermione's point of view.

'Yeah, Ron's right,' Harry chipped in, 'After these enchantments have been cast – and let's face it, it's only a matter of time before that happens – we'll have to be careful not to stand too close to you, Hermione. It's like she doesn't understand that girls and boys can be friends!' he finished indignantly.

'It's more than that, mate,' said Ron. 'Think about it. Not everyone wants to snog someone of a different gender. Has she thought of that? What will happen when she realises that's possible?' Hermione was taken aback by Ron's thoughtfulness, although she immediately felt slightly guilty for her surprise. She supposed she could give Ron a little more credit sometimes. _'As could he to me in return,'_ she reflected. As she nodded and smiled her agreement, she made her third mental note of the morning. This time it was to do with having a chat with Ron, at some point soon, about how they could better support each other in their friendship. _'Off the back of that thoughtful comment, I could even consider telling them I like women!'_ Hermione thought happily. _'I suppose good things can come out of the need to rally together against injustice.'_

Her happy feelings were diminished, however, by the sudden appearance of Draco Malfoy. Flanked as usual by Crabbe and Goyle, he sauntered over to their little group of three, stopping a few feet away, and making his arrogant drawl clearly heard over the rabble.

'Of course, my father has always said that something needs to be done to discourage breeding between good wizarding stock and bad. That's really what's behind this new kind of rule.'

Hermione's ears pricked up, as they often did in response to bigoted behaviour. She took a deep breath and glanced at Harry and Ron, sharing a look of recognition with both. This was the kind of thing she had been telling McGonagall about. All three friends hesitated, Harry and Ron taking their cue from Hermione as to when or whether to intervene. Unfortunately, Malfoy did not stop there.

'You just wait and see – before you know it all the black kids will be kept away from the white kids as an extra measure. And I for one, as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, would strongly support such a measure. Adds a whole new meaning to the word 'Mudblood', don't you think?' he finished with a laugh.

Hermione felt her blood boil. The whole sickening statement was bad enough, but the double-edged stab of his final statement really got to her. She was so disgusted, she couldn't even muster up a comeback. Ron and Harry looked at each other angrily and made their way over to Malfoy with fire in their hearts and momentum in their fists. But someone else had beaten them to it.

'MR MALFOY, HOW DARE YOU?'

An authoritative voice rang out over the heads of all the chattering students, as Professor Vector stormed over to Malfoy, fury written all over her face. Hermione's heart lifted slightly, feeling relief that this time a teacher was around to hear it.

'I AM ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED BY WHAT I HAVE JUST HEARD YOU SAY! THIS WILL NOT BE TOLERATED! COME WITH ME AT ONCE TO THE HEADMASTER'S OFFICE!'

Malfoy looked aghast at having been caught out. Despite the tense situation, an atmosphere of hope was beginning to settle over the nearby students, many of whom had been in some way affected by what they had just heard from their fellow student. There was, however, another voice that wanted entry into proceedings.

' _Ahem ahem.'_ Hermione's heart sank. Umbridge was back.

'I do not think that will be necessary, Septima,' she said calmly.

'And why is that, Professor Umbridge?' replied Professor Vector, standing her ground.

'Mr Malfoy is a member of my Inquisitorial Squad, and as such, answers to me. Please refer to the previous Educational Decree that proclaims this. Being as though he answers to me, he will not receive any punishment.'

Professor Vector looked at her askance. 'Won't receive any punishment? Racism is serious, Professor Umbridge! Professor Dumbledore explicitly forbids discrimination and hate speech in his school!'

Hermione was horrified at the way Umbridge was using her power, but at the same time fiercely proud of Professor Vector for standing up for herself and others in this way. She knew how hard that could be to do in general, and how especially risky it was under the current circumstances at Hogwarts. Intermingling with her feelings of disgust and rage was a heightened resolve to speak to Professor Vector at the earliest opportunity, to get the ball rolling on the ideas put forward during her meeting with McGonagall.

And here she was. Professor McGonagall, striding through the Great Hall with her majestic authority. Hermione's tingling feeling, which had taken a back seat for a little while, started up again as the professor came nearer.

'What is going on here?' she demanded as she joined the crowd that had now formed around Malfoy, Umbridge, and Vector. The latter instantly jumped to inform her of what had happened, and McGonagall's nostrils flared as she struggled to contain her anger. Unfortunately, the first thing she did was to send the crowd of students away, which meant that Hermione, Ron, and Harry were not able to witness what happened next. Being the last to leave, however, had meant that Hermione was able to catch the eye of Professors McGonagall and Vector before they launched into a passionate argument with Umbridge. She was sure from the brief, sincere look that Professor Vector gave her that she was already in the loop about the conversations she had been having. And when it came to the look she shared with McGonagall …well, if that wasn't intimacy, she didn't know what was.

' _Of course,'_ Hermione reflected later as she lay in bed, _'I know I sometimes read too much into what she says or does. I'm an intelligent person – I know full well that the mind embellishes things when it's thinking wishfully. But at the same time, I think we have genuinely got something special. I just wish that I wasn't her sixteen-year-old student.'_

Ordinarily, Hermione would have stayed awake replaying in her mind what Malfoy had said, and worrying about what else he might do, how far he might go. While of course it very much still bothered her, she found that she could set it aside, or at least push it a little farther to the back of her mind, and concentrate on Minerva. Thinking about her gave Hermione a kind of calm feeling that nothing else could. A kind of comfort. Even though it was the Minerva of her imagination, not the real Professor McGonagall, that was present right now.

She thought about what Minerva might be doing right that minute. Whether she would still be fuming about this morning, or whether she had calmed down somewhat. Had she been discussing it at length with Dumbledore? Would she be alone now, or maybe with Professor Sprout or Madam Hooch? Alone, she decided. Perhaps getting ready for bed.

As she basked in memories of her teacher's strength and passion, she began to imagine what Minerva might look like naked. She imagined the professor in her private quarters, slowly undressing. Becoming a bit more vulnerable. Removing her elegant emerald robes. Unbuttoning a black shirt, one by one. Reaching behind to unclasp her bra. _'Ohhh…'_ thought Hermione, as her mind's eye revealed Minerva's breasts. _'Mmmm…'_ as she imagined the hair covering Minerva's vulva.

' _Does she touch herself like I do?'_ Hermione wondered, sliding her hands to their familiar spots and starting to rub rhythmically in both places. She concocted an image in her mind of Minerva, naked in her private bed, masturbating with the same rhythm and movements as she was enacting on herself. Hard nipples. Wet. Perhaps she would make delightful sounds, a privilege of having her own room. What would she be thinking about? She didn't know her well enough to guess. But she hoped it would be women. Why? _'Because then we would have even more in common.'_ On that pleasing note, she fell asleep with her hands still in place.


	3. Chapter 3

At last, Minerva arrived at her private rooms. With a feeling of great relief, she sank into her favourite armchair with a cup of tea and a piece of shortbread, and attempted to take her mind off the most difficult Saturday she had had in a long time. It would not be possible or desirable to ignore it for longer than tonight, but she knew if she didn't give herself at least a very small break, she herself would break. And that wouldn't do at all. She was needed.

'At least we've got evidence now,' she reasoned aloud to herself. 'At the very least, we know what we're dealing with.' With a lurch of anguish, her mind flashed back to the scandalised look on Septima's face when Dolores had made it very clear that she is happy to tolerate racism and bigotry, and by the looks of it, even to encourage it. Having gladly assisted her in, let's say, "firmly presenting the counterarguments" to Dolores once the students were safely out of earshot, Minerva had offered to accompany Septima into the grounds for some fresh air. After a most distressing morning, Septima had been pleased to accept the company, and the two teachers had lapped the lake several times as they discussed what to do next.

After finishing her tea and snack, Minerva made a note on her magic wall planner to visit Albus the next day once he had returned from his latest secret trip, in order to share her concerns with him. She made a further note to inform Miss Granger of both the outcome of that visit, and the contents of her discussion with Septima, being as though she had promised her student a high degree of involvement in the process. ' _The process has potentially just become much more difficult,'_ she reflected as she changed into sleeping attire and slid under her duvet.

After a few minutes of lying wide-awake, she accepted that sleep was unlikely to arrive anytime soon, and so leaned over to pick up the book she had been reading. _'This ought to do the trick,'_ she thought to herself. The novel had been given to her by Rolanda, who thought Minerva could benefit from a bit of escapism. _'Gosh, she was right about that!'_ Minerva thought, as she attempted to shake memories of the day off her shoulders and opened the book at the last place she had left off.

 _Moved by the words, Constance bent her head to whisper in Imogen's ear, 'I have no fear, I have only love', quoting one of the lines from her book that she had read over and over again during the days that her love had been away._

 _Understanding the reference straight away and falling even more in love as she heard the words that meant so much to her, she took Constance's hand and whispered, 'Come to bed with me?'_

'A Life Beginning' was the first in a fictional series about a magical community, who practised magic rather differently to how it worked in the real world. At first, Minerva had been unsure whether she approved of fictional representations of magic, but quickly realised that her concerns were unfounded once she discovered how complex and interesting the characters were. The story was centred around a school – just for witches, not wizards – but the story focused on the teachers and their personal lives. Minerva had grown to love it. Not least because of the beautiful romantic relationship developing between the two female protagonists. And they were, by the looks of it, about to embrace their physical connection for the first time.

 _Imogen had unhooked Constance's bra but as yet had not touched what she knew was an extremely sensitive area, deciding instead to savour the moment. Pushing Constance back onto the bed, she straddled her and basked in the intense look she received as she removed her own bra. Not being able to resist, Constance reached up and finally touched the uncovered breasts. Craving even more, Imogen moaned to show how much she liked this, how wanted the touch was. Then she leaned down to kiss the woman beneath her, allowing her nipples to barely brush against the others and causing her lover to gasp loudly._

As she read along, happy that the story had reached this point after a delightfully slow burn, Minerva could feel herself becoming aroused. Her breathing quickened as she pictured the two women touching each other's breasts, and she slowly began to stroke her own breasts, running circles over her nipples on top of her nightshirt. She paused briefly, wondering whether it was appropriate to be indulging herself in this way when the school was in such trouble, and then quickly chided herself for the thought. 'Honestly, Minerva,' she said to herself, again out loud. 'You've got to look after yourself, otherwise how will you be in any position to look after anyone else?'

After re-reading the passage she had just completed, she undid a couple of shirt buttons and slid her hand inside, now enjoying the feeling of her soft skin and hardening nipples directly. Particular phrases jumped out at her as she continued to follow along with this most arousing and relatable encounter.

… _she looked at the formerly closed-off teacher writhing below her...felt wetness rubbing against her thigh…their bodies were pressed close together…_

' _Closed-off teacher, eh?'_ thought Minerva, as she set the book aside. _'I wouldn't be at all surprised if that's how people see me, too. People who don't really know me, that is.'_ She opened the remaining buttons on her long nightshirt, shrugged it off her shoulders, and then lay back on her comfortable bed with a smile on her face. She ran her hands all over her torso, before settling with one hand on her breast and the other hand between her legs. Picturing the last hand that had been there, apart from her own of course, she thought fondly of the ring glinting up at her while the familiar hand moved up and down in just the right rhythm.

Feeling safe and content, Minerva leaned over to the little drawer in her bedside table, and retrieved her own golden ring. She slipped it onto her left hand, and then lay back and continued touching herself with her right, this time feeling an extra connection to the person on her mind. Images of the last time she and Hestia had gone to bed together filled her head as she moved the ring-bearing hand back up to her breast, letting out a soft moan as she did so.

'I miss you,' she breathed out, as she imagined Hestia lying in a bed far away from Hogwarts, perhaps also partaking in a similar activity. Perhaps thinking of her. Or perhaps not. Either way, Minerva was happy in the knowledge that she had someone outside of the castle who cared about her that much, even if long-distance caring had its challenges. As she came down from her climax and rolled over to sleep, still naked, Minerva mentally noted a further plan for the following day, which was instantly magically transferred onto the wall planner.

' _Call my wife.'_

* * *

 **The novel Minerva is reading in this chapter is actually a reference to a wonderful work of fanfiction based on 'The Worst Witch' TV series. 'A Life Beginning' is the name of the first block of chapters in the epic 'A Life' universe, written by author Dreamsinlilac. This story had a big hand in inspiring me to have a go at writing my own fanfiction. After over a year and a half of reading a variety of fanfiction, it remains the very best I have read, and I would highly recommend checking it out.**


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